from the ashes I've come to praise us
by rainbow.room
Summary: Her muffled sobs shook into him as he soothed the ache of too many deaths, too many lost wolves. They were alone. 2013.


My thanks to Brainyblonde223 and SweettFace for their critiquing prowess.

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Jon walked into the new keep- reconstructed from the destruction of the place that was his childhood. What few men there were took no notice of him as they tried to reassemble their life lost. He, too, felt as if he were a stranger in the wasteland that had once been Winterfell. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to ride to the kingdom so soon after the war. But Jon had done it not for himself, but for the one who needed him the most.

"I'm**—**" Jon faltered before he could say it: _home_. He had no home. The masked devastation could never represent the place that had once meant warmth, love and family. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jon waited for Sansa to react. She turned at his words, she could hear the way he choked down the evil word. She knew how it felt to return to Winterfell and yet she had refused to admit it to herself until there he stood, looking as lost as she. In reply to his greeting Sansa promptly dropped on to her knees, eyes glazing over.

He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her cry, probably when they were still children and he and Robb left her to help Lady Catherine with a screaming baby Arya. It had been so long since he had seen her cry, too long. He forgot how ugly she looked when she did so, it was the only time Sansa ever looked ugly. Sansa would always begin with two deep breaths before her face twisted in anguish and sobs escaped her mouth. Her tears focused onto Jon as he stepped closer, feeling dismayed that his return had begun this way.

"Oh Jon, we are the only ones left," Sansa managed to say between broken cries.

Weariness filled him when she spoke those words, a sad realization that made him pull her to his chest and never want to let go. Her muffled sobs shook into him as he soothed the ache of too many deaths, too many lost wolves. They were alone. He kissed the top of her copper head, stroking her hair and comforting her. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. Again and again he spoke her name, like the song she would sing when summer began and the snows fell ever so lightly. _Sansa_.

She shivered in his arms, expressing her pain as best as she could. He had never truly been her brother yet in his arms she felt the comfort that was family, he was all she had. But two wolves could not bring back the pack. A fresh wave of tears rose within her; they had no home. The remains served only to surface memories of people she once loved, the life she had once had. To her it felt that she had nothing. Nothing but cinders and her forlorn Snow. Seconds, minutes, hours passed until her grip grew weak and her sobs became quiet gasps of the chill air. Still Jon held her. Then ever so slowly, Jon stood, taking the frail woman with him.

"You have me," Jon whispered as the last _Sansa_ fell from his lips. His tired voice rasped it once more, but for his own benefit. She nodded at his words, getting a grip on herself but never loosening the hold she had on him.

They began to walk, and through the ruin came bitter shreds of hope. They were alive to breathe in the remains. So Sansa told herself to breathe, just breathe, eyes wandering over the wreckage. Jon looked on: quiet, calculating. There were no children running, no old maids to chase them. No animals to be fed, no cooks to start the feast. There was nothing left, only broken men who had lost their families, lost their home.

Sansa had Jon and no one else. But from the broken, he stood strong and held her close, whispering in her ear that it would be alright as long as there was always a Stark in Winterfell. And there it stood, the crying weirwood tree and the red leaves that had long since been a symbol of the old. A gasp escaped him and Jon walked faster, not noticing that Sansa had let go, to take a closer look. More memories, more pain, more reminders.

"Jon," Sansa whispered. He turned to find that her gaze did not meet his eyes, but the shadows running around the old weirwood. Her steps were tentative as the little figures in her head grew more vivid. What she would do to take back the past and live with her childhood once more. But as Jon returned to her side, the images disappeared and once more they were left alone. She smiled at her foolishness, then giggled; and when Jon took her face in his hands to look at her, she was stifling her laughter. They had survived to see the sorrow.

Sansa shook her head, pushing his hands away and moving forward, into the godswood. There, signs of life resurfaced. More and more, little things that shook and squeaked and ran. Jon followed Sansa as she made her way further from the Great Keep. He watched her walk into the woods, seeing the young girl that had once screamed at the muddy snow. Now she was stepping into the place where frightening creatures lived and Sansa was calling him to her, calling him further into the place where the real wolves roamed, free from walls and destruction and gods.

Finally they stopped, a two hour walk away from the gates at the lone road that led to the deserted Wall. A wind that told of summer's end blew over the two, and Sansa tucked herself into Jon's warmth, looking at her surroundings with a satisfied smile. From afar, she could see no ruin and for a moment it felt like things would be alright. Because, at least, she had Jon.

"Would that I could," Jon murmured under his breath. Sansa face lifted to look at him, a deep sadness brewing in his eyes. "Would that I could, Sansa."

_Take care of you the way I did before. Bring things back to the way they used to be. Have everyone here with us once more._

"Oh Jon, we are the only ones left," Sansa shrugged, a wry smile on her face. Of the pack, it was almost ironic that she and Jon had endured to see what would remain of their past life; they had never been close, they had never been family. The wind blew harder and Sansa shivered beneath her layers, pushing further into the only brother that remained. Night would fall before they would ever reach the Great Keep, but Sansa could not find it in herself to care. Winter was coming and Sansa welcomed the numbness.

Taking in the castle, the godswood, and the Tully in her hair, Jon held Sansa closer as her bitter smile fell and her arms wrapped around him. He noted that the woodsy scent of her hair smelled only just faintly like the home they had hoped to return to. Jon brought his face closer to her auburn head, breathing in the last Stark of Winterfell.

And with wounded fingers, they began to rebuild.


End file.
